The flipside
by HollyBush
Summary: It wasn't you, Sam.  Set right after BUABS. Warning: Another piece of angst and brotherly love.
1. Chapter 1

**The flipside. **

**Disclaimer: Nothing but the bad spelling is mine. **

**Authors note: Again, the middle of the friggin' night here and I can't sleep. Apparently, this is what happens when I can't sleep.**

**It's unbeta'd (because I am not going to stalk my poor beta in the middle of the night, especially since I am going to be stalking her with 'The Road Ahead'. Also, If I don't post this now, I never will. I just don't have the same courage in broad daylight. **

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The silence was unnerving. Which was unnerving all by itself, because there had been silence between them before, both of the uncomfomtable and the companiable sort, but it had never been like this.

He would like to able to say that that was because he had never shot his brother before. Only that wasn't true. He had. So that couldn't be the reason then, that the silence stretched between them endlessly, leaving them more afraid to speak with every passing second, could it?

Or maybe it could.

**Because** he has shot him twice. Because who the hell shoots his own brother...twice??

"_It wasn't you, Sam."_

He can hear Dean speak those words, as if he were saying them right now. He probably was, trying to channel them into Sams mind by sheer force of thought and will. Like he knows he will always hear Dean say it, no matter the amount of years passing, no matter the amount of times he may shoot his brother.

'It wasn't him.'

No. He knew that. It wasn't him. It wasn't him that had punched his brother the face. It wasn't him that had shot him.

And that was exactly the problem.

It wasn't him.

It was a demon, possessing his body.

It was demon possessing _his_ body.

A demon, possessing _his_ body, aimed a gun at his brothers chest, and fired.

It wasn't him.

And yet, it was.

It didn't really matter that it was a demon throwing that punch, because it was _his_ arm that it used.

The demon had known which body to take. Whose voice to use. It hadn't been a random occurence. It hadn't been a coincidence that this demon had taken control of Sam Winchesters body and opened fire on Dean Winchester.

There had been thought put into it, groundwork. It had wanted to hurt Dean, and it had known exactly how to do that.

It had taken Sams body, and used his appearance, his voice, his traits, to goad Dean into killing him, and when that hadn't worked, it had done everything in its power to get back at the older hunter. To hurt him the best way he knew. By taking possession of Sams body.

And it was.

_The best way_.

Because nobody can hurt Dean like Sam can.

And that, he realised, had nothing to do with the demon. That was all him. He was the reason the demon had chosen him to hurt Dean. He was the reason it worked. He was why Dean hurted.

He always was why Dean hurted, in the end.

Because, for all the facades and charades Dean puts so much effort into holding up, he's dangerously careless about letting the world see his biggest weakness.

For anyone who bothered to look, it was painfully obvious that nothing Dean ever did, was without Sam in mind.

Ever.

Because, for Dean, it's all about Sam. Always has been. Always will be.

And _he_...he let it happen. He's let himself become what he had sworn to Dean he was no longer. He has let himself be his big brothers number-one priority. He has let himself, once again, become the protected. Barely a week back on the road and he had let them fall back into the well established swing of things. The swing that dictated that Dean was the big brother, and Sammy was the little one. And the Big Brother protects the Little Brother.

Ergo; Dean protects Sam.

And he can't deny how easy it has been. To let himself be pushed aside and let his big brother jump headfirst into whatever was threatening them.

He has let himself become Sammy once more.

And, for that, Dean carries the scars.

Because the demon knew.

And Sam didn't.

And how did that happen? When did he stop seeing Dean? Or was that where the proverbial crux lay? Was it not a question of ceasing to see? Was it a matter of having never started?

Because he knew what he meant to Dean, knew his brother would go to any lengths to protect him. But, apparently, he hadn't realised how far along those lengths stretched. He had never truly realised how much his brother depended on him. How could he have believed Dean when he made that promise? How could he have sighed in thanks and fallen asleep. How could he, even afterwards, not have seen that Dean only made that promise because he couldn't _not_, simply because it was Sam asking. Begging. And Dean couldn't refuse his brother anything. He could never bear to see his little brother suffer. So, he did what he always did. What he had always done.

He looked his brother in the eye, whispered words of comfort and heaved the burden onto his own shoulders.

And he did it without Sam noticing.

Sam had to admit that Dean knew how to do his 'job' better than he had ever realised because he had never noticed how his brother hadn't really solved his problems, had only taken them from Sam and made them _his._

Today, however, things changed.

Today, Sam noticed.

For the evidence of his neglect is etched on his brothers face.

And he can't make himself look away.

He stares at the bruises that mark his brothers face.

Bruises that he has put there.

Reminders of how much he, despite his vows to share his brothers burdens, has screwed up.

Because the demon knew. And he had let it happen.

He has let himself become the one thing that can break his brother.

No, it wasn't him.

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**I will stop hounding you soon! But a****fter writing this so quickly, I couldn't leave it at this and I had to give them, or myself, some "closure" in the shape of a tiny chickflick moment.**

**Interested? Or do you want me to leave it?**


	2. Chapter 2

**The flipside. **

**Part two. **

**Authors note: the flip side. Because I'm a sucker for those chick flick moments. Although there's really not a big one in here. In fact, I'm not sure what this is. I don't particularly like it, to be honest. However, the fourth chapter of 'On the Road' is being beta'd and I'm working on the big reunion, so I'm probably not gonna come back to this. That's why I posted it like this. It's just one of those pieces I'm always gonna frown at. **

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He glanced at his brother from the corner of his eye and bit his lip to hold back a frustrated sigh. This silence was wearing him down,but he didn't want to open his mouth and break it, because he knew Sam wouldn't fall again for whatever cheap remark he would make and then he'd want to talk. And Dean really didn't want to talk.

He didn't want to talk about his brother shooting him, to the brother who had done the shooting. He didn't want to sort through the emotions surging through his body right now, making every muscle scream, while numbing every part of his brain. Nor did he want to admit how much it had scared him, seeing his brother like that. Possessed. Different.

_Wrong_.

He didn't want to discuss any of that. Ever.

But he was going to have to.

Now.

Because Sam was sitting next to him, staring at him and then staring out of the window with that all too familiar pained expression and he was getting very seriously freaked out. He was also starting to think that his pain-in-the-ass-always-getting-into-trouble little brother was blaming himself for what had happened, which was very seriously freaking him out even more.

And since he really didn't want a broody little brother on top of his already burning shoulder, he was going to have to talk.

The bulletwound he could deal with, a guilty Sam he could not.

"Give it up, Sam"

The words startled Sam out of his stupor.

"What? What are you talking about?"

"This is not your fault, okay? So no use staring out of the window, trying to hog all the blame."

His brother looked at him, a look of disbelief in his eyes.

"How the hell can you say that, Dean? How, after everything that's happened can you still say that?"

Those damn puppy-dog eyes. Why did they have to look so pained, so often? Why were they never granted that freaking break?

"It wasn't you, Sam! It was that damn demon. How many times am I going to have to say it, before you get it through your meaty head? It. Wasn't. You."

Frustration and anguish now seemed to battle for dominance and Sam turned his head slightly, looking Dean right in the face.

"No Dean. I know. I wasn't me. Just like it wasn't me before either, right?

His breath hitched as he continued, daring his older brother to interrupt.

"Dean, has it ever come to your attention that it always seems to be me, or some twisted version of me, that hurts you the most?"

For a second, the older hunter found himself looking for words. How the hell did one argue with the truth? Unwilling, however, to let Sam win this discussion, to let him take all the responsibility, he optioned for a fraction of honesty.

"Look, Sam. I'm not gonna pretend it felt good, being shot by some _thing _that looked like my brother. But it wasn't you. And if I am willing to accept that, then why can't you?"

This time, Sams breath didn't hitch so much as stopped all together, before being let out in a desperate plea.

"Because I'm tired of being the one who hurts you! I'm tired of being the one thing capable of doing this to you. I don't want to be your weakness, Dean. Don't you see? As long as you keep protecting me, putting my safety before yours, this is gonna keep on happening. And I am scared, all right? I'm scared..."

He stopped there, apparently unable to keep going. Unable to voice his biggest fears and Dean stared at him, no longer able to keep his eyes on the road, as he tried to find something, anything, to calm his brother down, to comfort him, but came up empty, as he realised what the kid said made sense. A little too much in fact, and Dean preferred not to dwell on the possible consequences of that little fact.

Sam seemed to have gotten himself under control, enough at least, to pick up where he'd left off.

"I don't want to be the one who kills you."

The older of the brothers jumped in there.

"Sam..." He shook his head, drawing his eyes away from his brothers face and back onto the road: "It isn't a case of 'letting me', it's just the way it is. I can't not protect you. It's my job to keep you safe."

"I know, Dean. I know. But that's exactly my point. You're always there, ready to jump in before me, and I can't let you keep doing that, twenty four-seven. I can't take that risk. _You _are _my_ brother too. It goes both ways."

Dean sighed. It was all he seemed to be doing these days.

As much as he'd like to rage against his little brothers words, he knew it'd be a moot point. Like with everything Sam put his mind to. He wouldn't back down, wouldn't give an inch. Annoying is what it was.

It was one of the things he admired most about his brother.

"I get it, Sammy, I do. But I..."

He paused. Unsure of how to proceed, of where to take this. He was hovering on the edge of one very serious dicussion, Sam already sharing more than an inch of himself. How much of his soul was he going to have to lay bare in order for his brother to finally get it?

"Sam. I'm gonna try and explain this once and then we're going to find a bar and we're going to get ourselves more than one drink and never discuss this again."

Steeling himself, he took a deep breath.

"You think I don't get where you're coming from. I do. What _you_ don't get it, is that it's not the same for you and me. You said you're my brother so you'd die for me. But there's more to it for me than that. I've been taking care of you practically my whole life. I've changed your diapers and signed your schooltrip permissionslips and spoke to your teachers on parent-teacher night. I taught you how to drive and fight and shave. I know I'm _your_ brother too, that it goes both ways, but it's different for me. It's my _job_, my number one priority to protect you, to keep you safe. I was raised that way, Sam. I've never known anything else."

Another sigh escaped his lips. God, he was tired.

"It's just different."

He hadn't realised how hard his fingers had been gripping the steering wheel, until he felt them twitch. Sam sat next to him, completely silent. It made him uncomfortable in ways he couldn't describe, but he knew he had to keep silent as well, give his little brother time to work through the words, comprehend what had been said and come up with an appropriate response.

To his credit, he managed to stay mute for the whole of 4 minutes before he broke the silence that surrouned them, buzzed in his ears.

"You gone catatonic, or something?"

The question seemed to startle Sam out of his reverie.

"You're right."

Huh. He hadn't seen that coming.

"Really?" He made no effort to keep the skeptism out of his voice.

Sam looked at him, eyes narrowed, taking in what appeared to be every single line of his face.

"Yes. You are. I mean, everything you said is true. You did do all that. I guess it _is_ different for you."

Okay. This was getting creepy. Sam saying he was right on all accounts? He eyed his brother, eyebrow raised. There was a catch. He knew his brother. There had to be a catch.

"I feel a 'but' at the end of that sentence."

"But...I don't care."

See? Catch.

"Okay...well...glad we worked this out. Let's go find that bar."

"No, Dean. Don't get me wrong. It's not that I don't understand what you just told me. It's just that I..."

"Don't care"

"No. I mean..Yes. I mean...will you stop? I do care. I just think you have to..you know...get over it."

Now, this was ludicrous! Did the kid not hear a word he'd just said?

He didn't get a choice to voice those thoughts, though.

"I don't mean it like that, Dean! I just mean that you're going to have to accept that I'm not a kid anymore. I know you're not a superhero. And I know you've taken care of me in ways I could never repay you for, but I can try, okay? You need protection too, Dean. You say it's different for you because you raised me and took care of me, but then it's different for me too. You're the one who's been there my whole life. So you're the one I can't lose. And I'm not. Not if I can do something about it. And I can. You're my brother."

Well. There it was then. Sammy-logic. Trust collegeboy to turn his own argument against him.

He'd make a damn fine lawyer, one day.

"Yeah. I am."

A smirk fought it's way onto his face, as he pressed down on the gas pedal.

"Now, let's go find that bar."

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**Blegh. See what I mean? **


End file.
